


Angeles

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: BAMF Jensen, Cockles Origin, Drinking, Illnesses, Light Angst, M/M, Protector Jensen, Swearing, sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cockles Origin story from Jared's POV.</p><p>He’s had suspicions for close to a year, but Jensen’s never brought it up, and so Jared doesn’t push. But he’s known for sure since Thursday because on Thursday, Misha got sick on set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angeles

**Author's Note:**

> This story is entirely the fault of my dear friend M, who introduced me to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyjfDUwH3vc).
> 
> Misha talks about his 2011 food poisoning illness during the filming of 7.01 in [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20wjpN71XIs) and also [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dC_fraLWeaI) which has more info but worse camera work.
> 
> The timing might not be exactly right, but Steve Carlson's "Sharing the Covers" was released in September 2012, and I figured taking into account time for recording and post-production, that might push it back to about a year prior, give or take. Bear in mind I'm making this assumption with my zero knowledge of how music recording works.
> 
> This might turn into a series. Not sure. Leaving the door open. I'd love to write more from Jared's POV in this storyline if the muse cooperates because it would be fun to watch their relationship evolve through someone else's eyes.
> 
> Oh, and I have no idea what Phil Sgriccia is like as a person or a director. Sorry, Phil. I made you up.
> 
> \----
> 
> I could make you satisfied in everything you do  
> All your secret wishes could right now be coming true  
> And be forever with my poison arms around you  
> No one's gonna fool around with us  
> No one's gonna fool around with us  
> So glad to meet you  
> Angeles
> 
> \----

Of course Jared knows.

He can be kind of dense sometimes - hell, they all can - but he prides himself on being perceptive when it comes to Jensen’s ups and downs, because they’re friends. Best friends. And best friends notice shit about each other that everyone else around them manages to miss. So yeah, he knows.

He’s had suspicions for close to a year, but Jensen’s never brought it up, and so Jared doesn’t push. But he’s known for sure since Thursday because on Thursday, Misha had gotten sick on set.

No… “sick” is an understatement. On Thursday, Misha had gotten violently ill but still tried to work and as a direct result, Misha had projectile vomited on the set and Camera 2 and the bathroom of his trailer. On Thursday Misha had gotten so sick that production had sent a doctor to his trailer to evaluate him, and the woman with the MD after her name had rubber-stamped a Dx of food poisoning and had recommended, on paper, in scraggly doctor-scratch,  _ Bed rest and clear fluids. In the case of dizziness, confusion, or inability to pass fluids (lack of urination) - recommend hospitalization for emergency IV fluids. _

And Misha had passed out in his trailer before Phil could get a word in edgewise about the filming schedule.

Jared had given his own small smile when he noticed the self-satisfied smirk on Jensen’s face as they watched the director stomp away from Misha’s trailer, shaking his head and muttering curses under his breath.

Jensen was still smirking as he looked up and caught Jared staring. “What?”

“What what?”

“You’re lookin’ at me weird. Stop lookin’ at me weird.”

Jared had just cleared his throat, nodded to himself and let his face go neutral, but he couldn’t resist running his hand over his chin as he watched Jensen examine the doctor’s note again. “Misha’s a big boy, J. He’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” But it had ridden in on a sigh, under the breath, while Jensen’s eyes stayed glued to the closed door of Misha’s trailer.

Before Jared could form a response, they were summoned - “Boys! New pages!” - and then, sure enough, their hands were full of something different they were going to do in an ad hoc attempt to film around Misha.

But It wasn’t even  _ all that _ that had tipped Jared off.

It was later - 1:00 in the morning, after a few hours’ rest, under lighting and Misha still looked like shit - that the hammer dropped. They were in the middle of a scene, and Misha couldn’t even get up off the floor.

Jensen was physically hauling him up.

“ _ Cut!  _ Cut cut cut cut!  _ Fucking hell _ , Jensen!” That was Phil, and he stormed across the concrete floor as he hollered, waving a hand. “There’s absolutely nothing in the script that calls for you to be that hands-on.”

Jared could see his friend’s jaw clench even from the sidelines. His fists followed, and the fire in his eyes should have burned Phil to ashes right where he stood. “Let’s just get through this, all right? Call it ad-lib, actor’s choice, for all our sakes. It’s late.”

But Phil stared right back. “Reset and do it again,” he returned, and Jared had felt the ire rise in his own body at that. “ _ As scripted _ .”

That hadn’t gone any better. Misha stumbled and almost fell, and they had to scrap that take as well. On the third go, Jensen resumed his attempt to bodily support Misha, script be damned.

Predictably, Phil had called for another cut, but before he could stride onto the set, Jensen came off forcefully. “We do it my way, or we go home. That’s it.”

“That’s not your call, Ackles.”

“You don’t have me, you don’t have a scene.”

“You wouldn’t just walk off…”

But there was that fire again - Jensen wasn’t lying. He  _ would _ . He was putting his ass on the line in defense of Misha and, Jared had reflected later as he thought back over the past year, this wasn’t the first time. “Watch me.”

“Jensen, look. This is literally the last thing we have to do tonight.”

“We don’t  _ have _ to do  _ anything _ . We could just go home. Look.” He had lowered his tone, but Jared was close enough to catch the gritted plea. “He’s got a fever. He’s literally shaking with chills on the floor over there. I’m not even sure he remembers his lines, all right? He needs. To rest. Or it won’t be just your scene on the line, it’ll be your whole goddamn episode, and by association,  _ your ass _ .” At that, and knowing he’d won the argument, Jensen stepped back and folded his arms across his chest.

Jared had been a quiet observer to that moment, and he had remained as such through the haze of the rest of the night. He had watched Jensen put a guiding arm around Misha and take him to his trailer. He had seen the way their feet fell easily into step like the whole walk was choreographed; how on set Misha had barely been lucid but with his head on Jensen’s shoulder, he could walk and carry on a hushed conversation.

He had seen the way Jensen opened the trailer door and looked down at Misha from the step before nodding decisively and lifting him up, one hand behind the head and the other under dead-weight knees, and carrying him inside. He’d heard Misha’s weak grunt of objection and Jensen’s hushed reply, “It’s all right, Angeles. I got you.”

Jared didn’t need to ask to know he wasn’t supposed to hear that. He tried to keep his expression neutral as Jensen reappeared, his head sticking out the trailer door and finding Jared’s eyes in the dark.

“I’m gonna… make sure he gets home OK,” he’d said then. And  _ that’s _ when Jared knew for sure. Not what happened on set and not really the actions afterward, but eyes and the tone in that moment. The unspoken  _ he needs me _ .

And  _ Angeles _ .

They all call each other all kinds of things, from the profane to the endearing, but this is different.

“See you tomorrow?”

“With bells on.”

Jared keeps his mouth shut all day Friday, even though Jensen calls Misha five times  _ just to see how he’s doing _ .

“Let the guy sleep, J, he’s supposed to be resting!” is all he says, but he lets it out on the bubble of a chuckle.

He keeps his mouth shut on Saturday morning, too, when he heads back to Austin alone because Jensen has decided to stay in Vancouver for the weekend  _ in case Misha needs anything _ .

“Text me if you’re bored out of your skull. Or day drinking,” he smirks. But he’s not surprised that he doesn’t hear a word from his friend all day.

But on Sunday evening, over beers at their favorite Vancouver dive bar, Jared takes a long look at his friend as the older man punches out a text. Sure enough, it’s Misha’s name at the top of the conversation, and he just can’t keep quiet anymore.

“All right, J. I need you to be straight with me. What’s going on with you and Misha?”

Jensen turns slowly to face him as he slips the phone back into the right-front pocket of his favorite worn jeans. “Wha’dya mean?”

Jared can’t help it - he casts his eyes heavenward and laughs aloud, throwing his body back as far as the barstool allows with one foot braced against the floor. “Right,” he manages through the laughter. Then he clears his throat and sobers, bringing his eyes back to lock with his friend’s. “Look, man. I don’t care, all right? I don’t even care that you didn’t say anything. It’s gotta be a hell of a thing to explain to  _ anybody _ . No blame, no judgement. Just tell me what’s going on. Brother to brother.”

Jensen looks down at the wooden bartop and gives it a moment of study. Takes a sip from his glass, draining the whiskey inside. Then he looks sidelong back at Jared. “Brother to brother?” Jared nods in confirmation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come on, Jen…”

“Scout’s honor.” His tone is so quiet it was barely audible - but it’s genuine. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

Jared nods and takes his own turn at studying the well-carved wood that props up their drinks. He signals the bartender to refill Jensen’s glass with two fingers, then drums those fingers on the bartop for a long beat as he mulls over the older man’s statement. “Nothing going on.”

“How many times I gotta say it before you believe me?”

“Touche.” They fall into silence for so long that Jared considers letting the subject go. He opens his mouth to speak just as the lightbulb flickers in his head. “But…”

“But?” Jensen’s giving him that sidelong look again, the one with a single raised eyebrow of challenge that Dean Winchester has adopted.

“Your Honor, I’d like to rephrase my question.”

“Proceed.” He’s glad to see the right corner of Jensen’s mouth curl up in amusement, and it gives him the courage to continue playfully.

“You’d like there to be.”

The eyes narrow, but the expression is still playful. He’s close. “Objection. Speculation.”

“Wait, are you the judge or the defense attorney?”

“Both, I think. Just keep digging, Padalecki.”

Jared lets out a long sigh before turning his stool to face Jensen and forcing his friend’s stool to swerve inward so the other man has to look at him, too. “Do you have romantic feelings for the esteemed Mr. Collins, yes or no? I’d like to remind you that you are under oath.”

“I am not.”

“Just answer the question.”

Now it’s Jensen’s turn to sigh. He takes a sip of his newly filled glass of whiskey, licks his top lip and sets the glass back down. Jared watches as Jensen swivels back inward to square his body with the bar; watches as he traces the rim with the tip of his right index finger for two full laps before opening his mouth. He’s still looking at the glass, staring down into it, and Jared feels a tinge of guilt - clearly he’s poking at something that weighs heavily on Jensen’s mind - and maybe his heart as well.

“I’m smitten, man.”

It hurts. Not the words - Jared’s heart swells two sizes at the words - but the tone. It hurts because Jared can  _ feel  _ the internal turmoil radiating off of Jensen so hard it makes Jared want to cry. “And Misha? How does he feel?”

“We haven’t, uh. Talked about it.”

“At all?”

“At all.”

“Dude.” He can’t help the guffaw he emits as he holds his arms out to either side of his body in question. “Because… what? Misha’s going to reject you? Judge you? You and I both know that’s insane. He’s probably just waiting for you to own it so he can justify pinning you up against the wall for a grope-and-grind.”

“OK first of all, please let this be the first and last time you refer to anything physical between Mish and me as a ‘grope-and-grind’.” His single raised pointer finger makes Jared throw his head back for a laugh. “Second of all, in case you forgot, we’re both married to other people.”

“Right, but Misha’s…”

“Misha and Vicki are Misha and Vicki. I know.”

“And Dani is basically Misha with breasts.”

“That is  _ so _ not helpful.”

“Sorry.” Jared clears his throat and centers himself on his stool but keeps his eyes on his friend. “Does Dani  _ know _ ?”

There’s a long, still silence, and then Jensen mumbles something to the bartop that Jared can’t make out. “What?”

“I said...  _ Dani wants to watch me suck his dick _ .” It’s as loud as he dares in a public place, and it makes Jared’s eyes go wide before he can stop them.

“Wow.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“So back to my question. What’s stopping you?”

At that, Jensen lets out a long huff of breath, and the words tumble out in a slurred rush. “‘M scared.”

“Seriously?”

“When D and I took the plunge and went out on our first date, it was terrifying. I cared about her as a person, you know, and I knew if it didn’t work out romantically, I might lose a friend. It’s that, all over again. It’s more than that, really, because we’d still have to  _ work _ together.”

“So instead you’ve decided it’s better to live with the heartache.”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, you know they say it’s better to have loved and lost--”

“Oh, do  _ not _ fucking start that motivational crap with me.”

“You know, Misha’s perceptive. You fucking carried him into his trailer, dude.”

“Uh huh. Oh. And I sang to him.”

“You--  _ what _ ?!”

Jensen’s face is ten shades of red, but he keeps talking, like he can’t help himself. As much whiskey as he’s downed, Jared reflects, this might very well be the case. “I think he was asleep already. Not sure though. Totally not sure. He kept making sounds ‘n like… then he got real quiet. I said the part about putting my poison arms around you and he made a reeeeaally weird grunty sound. Think maybe he wasn’t actually asleep.”

Jared’s own mind is foggy as hell, but the buzz doesn’t stop him from connecting the dots. “ _ Angeles _ ,” he breathes. Jensen just slams back the rest of his glass and slides it down the bar out of his own reach, waving off the bartender when he points in their direction. “Tell me you didn’t…”

“I mean, man, listen. It was Steve’s idea we do a song, all right, I just… picked a direction. But yeah. ‘S for Mish.”

“Shit.” He furrows his brow as Jensen starts digging in his pocket and pulling up his phone. “What’re you doing?”

“Callin’ Mish,” comes the slur, and Jared reaches one long arm across his friend’s body to grab the phone. “Gotta tell him something before I lose my nerve.”

“Ohhhh no. No no no no. Not tonight. No. We are going to have some waters and stay here until we’re sober enough to drive, and then you’re going to go home and go to bed. And tomorrow, at work, you’re going to sit down with him in your trailer, and you’re going to have yourselves a nice,  _ sober _ , face-to-face talk, and Facetime your wives, and, I dunno, mutual masturbation or some shit. I’m just throwing that out there. Figure shit out. Sober.”

Jensen just grunts. “Gimme my phone.”

“No calling Misha.”

“Cockblocker.”

Jared starts laughing because the accusation is absurd, and the conversation they’ve just had is absurd, and everything about the whole situation is absurd.

But his friend is laughing, too. Jensen is laughing. Jensen is relaxed and happy. And then Jensen is hugging him, muttering, “Thank you, brother,” and that’s all Jared needs to hear. He hugs back. “You’re welcome.”

They part, and as Jensen settles back onto his own stool and takes his first chug from a glass of water that’s appeared in front of him, Jared can’t help but close out the conversation on a humorous note. “Just, uh, you know.” He sips at his own water as a smirk slides onto his face. “Send up a smoke signal if y’all are gonna be bangin’ in your trailer. I don’t wanna be walkin’ in on anything R rated.”

“X rated.” It’s delivered under the guise of a cough, but unmistakable.

“Dude, gross.”

“I’m jus’ sayin’.”

“Yeah, well.  _ Don’t _ .” He chuckles and sips at his own water, and they fall into a comfortable silence at the change of beverage and a desperate need for a change of topic before --

“Do you think he’s, you know. A top? Or a bottom?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” And he thinks inside his hazy brain that, yep.  _ This is my life now. I did this. I opened Pandora’s box. Life points _ .

“Probably both.”

“J…”

He chances turning his head and finds his friend smirking at him knowingly. “You fucker.”

“Get used to it and yes, I did intend the pun.” He dissolves into laughter at his own joke, nearly falling off his barstool as he doubles over. “I got a million of ‘em.”

“Can’t wait.” It comes out sarcastically, but the smile he gives when Jensen looks up is genuine. Because he can’t wait. He can’t wait to see where this goes for his two best friends and their wives. He can’t wait for the pranks he’ll pull on them both when they’re distracted. He can’t wait to see how it translates into real life.

He can’t wait.


End file.
